A Rainy Day in Amaranthine
by maradeux
Summary: Anders is getting sick on a rainy day. He's also falling in love with the 'Hero of Ferelden'. But is this city elf even interested in the mage?


There were several things, Anders hated about Amaranthine – it was part of the stinky dog country of Ferelden – this alone was bad enough. The weather was terrible – rain and storm on almost every day; and the fact, he had to become a Grey Warden to escape from the authorities who wanted to throw him into a prison – or a tower – which was the same for him - for being born as a mage.

There were only very few things, Anders liked about this place. One of them was walking right next to him – Ghilan Tabris – a city elf rogue with messy white hair and piercing green eyes. He was tall for an elf, athletic, his skin was tanned; and he smelled of sun and dirt. He also was his boss – leader of the Grey Wardens; as well as the famous 'Hero of Ferelden' who had killed the Archdemon. Or was responsible for that kill. Or whatever. The mage wasn't exactly interested in those stories; but he was clearly interested in that elf – his sturdy calves, his perfect abdominals, his smug smile…

"Everything alright, Anders?", Ghilan asked him with one of his unmasking smirks.

The mage stumbled over a root on his way and cleared his throat which had bothered him for quite a while with an annoying tenderness. "Um… yes. Just thought about the girl I wanted to meet in Amaranthine today…"

"Oh? Then, we should hurry to get there," the elf said grinning. Of course, they were heading to that city anyway. And of course, it started to rain again.

"Sod it, sodding Ferelden weather," the dwarven warrior who also belonged to their small group mumbled into his long red beard and took a long sip from a dubious bottle he carried at his belt.

"Ugh, Oghren, honestly… What are you drinking there? That smells like wet socks." Ghilan asked laughing, wiping some raindrops from his tanned face.

"Want to try?" The dwarf offered the elf his bottle who declined laughing. "Thank you but I'd rather drink from that snail-filled puddle over there."

"Your elves are all milksops," Oghren grumbled taking another sip.

Usually, Anders loved to participate in this kind of senseless chitchat; but not today. While the rain dripped off the leather and steel armors of his companions, his heavy velvet robe got completely drenched. He was soaking wet from his sandals up to his blond ponytail; and shivered with every gust.

"You don't always wear robes, do you?" Of all times, now, their taciturn archer Nathaniel had to ask him this question. The mage looked into this always serious face with that enormous beak.

"Not when I'm naked," he replied with a sniff.

"I mean when you run from the Circle. Robes would make you easy to spot." The archer's raven-black long hair was drenched as well, but the man showed no signs of feeling cold. _Must be the Ferelden blood in his veins_ , the ailing mage thought.

"So does the 'I'm a mage!' sign around my neck. I like to make it easy for the templars." He sniffed and cleared his throat as his voice slipped away for a second. _There, I still can give fire_ , he thought; and this thought alone let his hands prickle with an onset of flames. _Hu… hu… huRE'TSHUUUH_ he suddenly sneezed too much concentrated on getting his powers in control to hold it back.

"Andraste bless you!" Ghilan said glaring at him suspiciously. "Are you feeling well, Anders?"

The mage rubbed his nose with another sniff. "Yes… Yes, I'm perfectly fine."

The hours of the day passed. The elf girl Namaya he'd bedded two or three times, became apparent as a traitor. The warehouse where his phylactery was supposed to be was nothing but a trap by the templars. But Ghilan saved him. He was his rescue, a true friend…

The mage couldn't stop thinking about the elf on their way back to Vigil's Keep. It was getting dark already, the air brisk. And it was still raining although not as heavily anymore. Anders felt the raindrops hot and cold running down his spine. His nose was itching; his breath hitching several times. His hands were forming ice balls and flames without his control. His eyes flattered; and he was stumbling over another root.

"My friend? What's wrong? Can I help you?" It was Ghilan who had let himself fall back to walk next to the mage; giving him a worried side-glance.

Anders chuckled, his breath was hitching again. "You are a true friend, Ghilan, a true… _h… hnx… haRETHUUUUH… snf_ … friend." His voice sounded congested and raspy. He coughed and rubbed his nose with an ice-covered hand. Then, he felt a cool wrist on his aching forehead. Ghilan's arm! A shudder went through the mage that wasn't only caused by his fever and he giggled crazily.

"You're burning up, Anders," he heard the elf saying; then felt how several arms heaved him onto the back of their only horse they usually only used as pack animal. "There, let's take him home," Ghilan's melodic voice ordered; and his tanned arm supported the mage so he wouldn't fall while they were running back to their base.


End file.
